


Love Song for a Vampire

by dramady, edonyx



Category: Adam Lambert - Fandom, American Idol RPF, lambliff
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-11
Updated: 2010-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:33:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramady/pseuds/dramady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/edonyx/pseuds/edonyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is Eternal</p><p><b>Warnings</b>: Vampire!fic, so this alludes to violence, possible dub-con.</p><p><b>Disclaimer:</b> This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Song for a Vampire

The paper trembles between his fingers as he reads the words, signed and sealed with the name of Simon Corsen. Adam of Lambert has fallen, and the letter sent along with a swatch of his hair and a smear of blood as proof. He'd gone to Roslin in an attempt to curry a truce to be in the Act of Union, and this is the result, what Tommy holds in his hands. Who he'd called 'Sir' and 'Master' in public and simply 'Adam' in private, between the sheets and behind closed doors, is dead.

Setting the note down on what had been his master's dressing table, Thomas stands in the middle of the room, unsure of how to go about what his heart is telling him to do. The sterling handle of the brush works well to break the looking glass, and sifting through the shards has him finding a piece that's just the right length, the right sharpness that he can whisper _in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti_, and push it into his skin. What follows is soft and dark, the wings of an angel or God Himself; it's where Adam's gone and Thomas is sure he'll find him there.

+_+_+

The house is as nearly unbearably new, made of wood and brick and set back amongst the trees in the mountains overlooking urbanity. The interior is furnished in the richest of fabrics and textures and the furniture is nearly priceless in its age and value.

It's hardly noticed.

There are some concessions made to the year being 2010 (beyond the house itself).

There is a television tucked in an armoire in the corner of a room dominated by windows. The vampire stands in front of it, staring intently at the screen as if he could reach through it.

He has to remind himself that he cannot.

The music, on the other hand, is horrible. But he has the television muted, concentrating only on the one playing the guitar. The one with the blond hair standing on end.

The vampire has waited _so long_. He tells himself he can wait for a small time longer. But his hands are fisted and he can barely catch unneeded breath, a hand clenched over his chest, the other at his side.

+_+_+

"What do you mean, he's dead?"

There is no answer that can come quickly enough. With an arm corded with muscle, the lord pulls the servant up by his collar. "Speak what it is you _mean_."

"W-we t-though you dead, sire. We - " He's thrown to the stone floor and all he can hear are the lord's receding footfalls as he runs.

The earth over the grave is still freshly turned. Lambert feels his knees give and he falls to the ground with a hoarse shout. He digs into the soil, pushing it away behind himself until he can see the wood of the coffin, the cross carved into it. The top is flimsy enough that Adam is able to break it easily, pulling away the shards of wood. He sobs out a sound at the sight of his lover's face before he screams to the sky, blasphemous things, horrible things that cannot be taken back or buried.

He cannot go back and now that his lover is gone, Adam has no wish to. A dark light burns in his eyes when he stands again. He will send for the body to bury it properly. "Just for a time," he whispers. "Just for a time."

+_+_+

Turn Of The Screw is done with their practice for the night, and after polishing off two two-fours between five guys, Tommy's feeling just a little too loose to drive. It's okay, though, Steve's place is a fifteen minute walk from Tommy's apartment. He scoops up his guitar case, makes kissy-faces at the other guys, promises Steve a blowjob for fronting him the cash on the beer this time, and heads down the stairs to the street. It's night, no big deal, it's night for half the day, right? If that makes any sense at all.

Except that there's someone standing in the middle of the sidewalk. He's tall, in the shadows so that Tommy can't see his face. What he can see is a long trenchcoat and broad shoulders. However, when the man tilts his chin up, his eyes glint in the streetlights. He says nothing.

"Oh jeez, sorry," Tommy mutters, pulling his case up closer so he can duck by this guy who's just _standing_ there. For a second, Tommy wonders if he's about to get mugged, or if he gave this guy a buck, then he'd get some kind of good karma points, or something. Once he's passed, though, Tommy hazards a glance over his shoulder at the guy before setting down his guitar case to plug his headphones into his ears. That way if the guy _does_ ask for change, Tommy'll be able to legitimately use the excuse that he didn't hear.

No, no asking for change. Instead, the man turns, watching Tommy still. But still he doesn't speak. If asked, it would almost be as if he was struck dumb. When a passing car sheds light on him, he looks _haunted_, face creased with some kind of anguish. But when Tommy turns backs a second time, the man is gone as if never there.

+_+_+

"You came when I called you," Adam of Lambert whispers into the crux of his lover's neck, smiling. The night is dark as is the room; no candles light the space. They aren't needed; the bed is warm and they know the contours of each other's bodies by heart. "I'd been thinking of you all day."

Thomas's palm moves up Adam's ribs, feeling the bump of them under his skin, and when his mouth finds Adam's, his master can feel that there's a smile there, too. "You know what would happen if we were caught during the day, though. I'd be sent away and you'd lose your place in King George's court." But in the near-complete darkness, Thomas's mouth parts against Adam's, fitting his body against his lover's in the way he knows they match. "It's hard not to touch you when..." When the sun is high, when there are eyes on them. When his master is Adam of Lambert, England, instead of simply Adam. "I think about it. I think about you. I think about... _this._"

"Of this?" Adam reaches between them, long fingers warm and knowing, skating over skin before pushing inside. "And this? Pray tell, what did you think about? I'd like to know. I want to hear you _say_ it." His lips against Thomas's ear before his tongue traces along the curve of the shell, his hips rocking against the slim curve of Thomas's hip.

They move like shadows in the dark, and Thomas' voice is low and breathy, secret even though there are no other ears to listen. "Yes. _This._ Your fingers and your mouth. Hhh..." The rock of Adam's hips has him exhaling in a sigh, eyes closed and useless against the dark. "How your body feels in- in mine. How it feels _so good._" His own fingertips tighten on Adam's skin as his legs shift and his knees come apart. "I think about how much I love you."

"I love you, too," Adam tells him, voice dropped to a whisper. Some day, they talk of, they will run away, take Adam's money and their belongings and go away, perhaps to somewhere in Italy or Spain, some place far away where they can _be_. Soon. As soon as the next treaty as signed, as soon as ...

Soon.

In the meantime, they share their time like this, with sounds that are blocked from outside ears by heavy wood and solid stone and mortar, muffled in hot, hidden kisses while Thomas has his legs around Adam's waist and his hands braced on his shoulders. _Soon_, yes, but in the meantime, they can fill the time with _this._

+_+_+

Back in his wooden and flimsy California home, Adam slumps against the wall, a hand to his chest, the other over his mouth. It's true. It's _true_. But there was no memory on his lover's face, no recognition. The sight of him without that look of love that shone so brightly in his eye feels like a knife to Adam's chest.

He must do something else.

With modern technology, he can find out how to contact the musical group of which this Tommy is a part. A few more telephone calls, he can enquire about hiring the band for a party. A funds transfer and the band is contracted to play in three weeks. Adam Lambert, no longer Adam of Lambert, will be having a party.

When the guys find out about the contract, there's a lot of hollering, a _lot_ of beer (and this time, Tommy's got the money to pay for his share), and once again, he finds himself walking home to his apartment. The night's cool enough that he can see his breath in vague plumes, and his hands are jammed in the pockets of his hoodie, hood pulled up over his hair. Hell _yes._ A private, _paid_ gig, for some rich guy in the hills. He hums along with his music, the _sweet_ new Killswitch album, fingers twitching inside his pockets along with Dutkiewicz's crazy riffs. But at the same time, and maybe it's just being out in the cool air, he feels like he's being watched.

"You're out late," he hears, though he can't place it. Nothing stands out in the shadows. "Los Angeles isn't safe so late. Though," the voice chuckles. "It can be argued that it's _never_ safe."

Tommy yanks the buds out of his ears, because there's no way a voice should be that clear when he's got music on, and whips his head back and forth to find the source of whoever's _gotta_ be talking to him. "Look, I don't have a lot of money, okay? But you can have what I've got. I just... I'm just going home, okay?" It's not like he lives in a _bad_ area, him or Steve, but for someone to mention safety in the city usually means someone's about to get their wallet jacked.

"I don't need your money." And a figure comes clear of the shadows, the same figure as before, down to the trench coat. Tilting his head up, his face catches the light. Adam smiles, his jet-black hair pushed back from his face. "Your name is Tommy. I ... knew. A Tommy. He went by Thomas, though. And he was beautiful."

"What the _hell._ How do you know that?" Tommy backs off a step, then another one. Yeah, he remembers this guy, the one he'd thought might ask him for change, and here he is _again_, and he knows Tommy's name. For a second, he entertains the thought that Tall Dark and Gothic is a stalker of some sort, but let's be honest, who'd want to stalk Tommy Joe Ratliff, who's not much more than a nobody guitarist in a punk band. But when the light hits TDandG's face, Tommy freezes. There's- there's _something._ Something that feels like it's on the tip of his tongue and then it's gone.

"I saw you on the television." Adam doesn't move, being still in the night. A passing car throws him into entire illumination, showing his pants and tailored shirt under his trenchcoat, the fine lines of well-made clothes. His eyes narrow as he looks at Tommy. "What I would give for you to remember." But it's said softly and he turns. "Beware those you see on the street, Tommy. One can never know their true intentions."

"Yeah, no shit." Tommy finds he can move again, and he backs up again, watching TDandG carefully. People don't say that shit and then do _nothing_, okay? "Well, uh. Thanks for... seeing us on TV? That's cool. But I gotta take off." _Please don't kill me._ And the comment about remembering? Remembering _what?_ Adam can see him shake his head, just a little bit, from side to side. Not in a negative gesture, just... a confused one. _Beware those you see on the street._ No shit, that's why Tommy's making his exit ASAP, thanks, with a muttered, semi-polite "later," before he turns his back, feeling prickly and creeped out.

He doesn't see Adam's face fall. And he doesn't hear Adam accuse himself of being a bloody fool for hoping. For wishing. For missing a lover dead over two hundred years. Soon, he thinks. Soon they will be together again.

+_+_+

Being immortal comes with some benefits. Financial security, learning the ability to make connections. The party with its two hundred invitees is a smashing success even before Turn of the Screw plays. An open bar and the finest food helps that. The host mingles, dressed in silk, never letting the band's guitarist out of his sight. He and Tommy haven't spoken yet. But they will.

Seeing Mr. Lambert in the light makes him unrecognizable compared to seeing him in shadow, and Tommy's talking to one of the girls at the party, beer in hand, when he sees what time it is. They've gotta go on in ten minutes, and for some reason, seing all of these people dressed up kind of makes Tommy think that _maybe_ their style of music isn't exactly matching the party. But, whatever, they've been paid and they're going to play. After he has a cigarette. The question is, where. He finds Adam talking to another guest. "Sorry to interrupt, Mr. L... just wondering where I could smoke?"

When Adam turns, Tommy can see the deep blue of his eyes, accented with the kohl of what might be eyeliner, or might simply be the dark of his eyelashes. Adam smiles, dismissing the woman he'd been talking to. "The balcony. I'll show you." He gestures toward glass doors that open to a balcony looking into the woods. "This way." The air is cooler outside. Once there, he turns to Tommy. "I'm looking forward to hearing you play."

"Awesome, thanks." The night's quiet, and Tommy lights up, keeping one eye on his watch and another on his host, who, in the dark looks like-

"-are you _kidding_ me?" The cigarette drops from his lips as shock pants a blank canvas on Tommy's face. "Dude, if you've been stalking me 'cause you wanted us to play your party, you should have _said_ something. Otherwise I'm gonna start thinking you're going to like, stuff me in a closet with duct tape over my mouth and my hands tied together."

Looking out over the trees, which, in the dark look more ominous to human eyes, Adam's smile is more like a smirk. But when he turns to look at Tommy again, there's a sharpness to his gaze that might be undeniable. "I don't need to stalk you. Nor do I need to abduct you. If I want you, I would simply ... have you. But you know that, don't you."

It's sharp enough that it pins Tommy to where he's standing, cigarette stills mouldering between his feet from where it had fallen from his mouth. Adam's gaze isn't the only thing that seems sharp, to Tommy. There's something about his mouth that isn't right, and for someone who's as big a horror fan as Tommy is, with Bela and Linda and Boris and Elsa tattooed on him, he doesn't recognize what he's never seen outside of a movie. "Yeah," he answers anyway, feeling like it's the right thing to say. "Yeah, I know that. I don't know how I do, but..."

"You do." Taking one step closer, Adam brushes his fingers along the curve of Tommy's jaw, his own head cocked to the side, gaze never leaving Tommy's. "I would never hurt you, though. And you know that, too." There's that enigmatic smile again. "Don't you."

There's a sensation of spinning, and Tommy has the dim thought that somehow, he's being hypnotized. Next thing he knows, he's going to be performing, and then, like, start clucking like a chicken or some shit. Right? Wrong. When Adam touches him, Tommy's eyes fall shut and he leans forward, as if wanting more. "Yeah," he says again, but this time it's a shadowy whisper. "I know."

Adam's thumb brushes along Tommy's lower lip. When he leans forward, though, Tommy can't feel breath when Adam speaks. "it's time," he whispers. "For you to play, isn't it?"

A long moment passes before Tommy even realizes Adam's said anything. "Oh. Oh, yeah. It is. Sorry. I just... I was smoking and I totally forgot about the time." Just before he goes inside, though, he touches his mouth where Adam's thumb had been, and where his breath had lacked. Once he's in the light again, it's like waking up, or surfacing out of deep, dark water, and he nods at the guys to get their shit together. They're on.

The music doesn't fit the audience at all, granted, and yet, no one seems to mind, sipping their cocktails as they listen. Adam's eyes never leave the guitarist, though, and he stands against the wall with a drink he doesn't touch, a small smile playing on his lips. Thomas has played the lyre in the quiet of the gardens; Adam can still remember it.

And when they're done, Tommy's feeling a little warm from the lights and from performing, and he cases his guitar before heading to the bar for a double-fister of beer. Adam gets a sunny smile, their dreamy conversation outside almost entirely forgotten but for the fact that he's feeling comfortable around their host, now. He's sure Adam had been checking him out privately to make sure he and the guys weren't going to like, trash the party that Adam's hosting. That's gotta be it. It makes sense. Adam wanted them, and he's having them. It's that easy.

At the bar, Adam comes to stand next to Tommy, looking down at the bar, still smiling. "Your band is very passionate." His words are chosen carefully. He doesn't say that they are _good_.

Oh, Tommy gets it, and he laughs. "Yeah, I didn't think we were much your style. Especially when we saw the place, you know?" In the light, Adam's eyes look almost icy, and once Tommy looks into them again, well, he's frozen. "You have to have passion when you do something you love." But his lips feel numb and his words feel like they're being spoken for him. His pair of beers sits on the bar, untouched and forgotten. He knows those eyes, he's _sure_ of it. Tommy just doesn't remember them being so... _intense._

"Do you like my home?" Adam asks, unblinking, that still-small, almost coy smile playing at his mouth. "I mean to say that I admire your passion. Will you stay? The party is ending. I'd like it if you stayed." He doesn't touch, but Tommy can nearly feel Adam's fingers on his skin again, along the column of his neck.

"It's really nice." Tommy looks around, but it isn't as if he sees much, when honestly, Adam's got his attention. All of it. His skin rises in goosebumps, and absently, he rubs at his arms. "I got an apartment, well... you know, you've seen me a couple of times on the way home. How'd you know I walk that way?" There's something about Adam's mouth, or his teeth, or the way he smiles. Something... sensual. Not that Tommy would ever use a word like that, but that's how it _feels_, to look at him.

"It was a guess." Taking a step closer, Adam ducks his head to meet Tommy's eye. "You didn't answer me. You'll stay, won't you." To have his Thomas so closely and not _have_ him makes Adam want to grab, to _take_. "Perhaps you can play the guitar for me."

Oh. Tommy thought he did answer. But then, his thinking feels kind of murky when Adam talks, and it makes his blood feel hot in his veins. "Yeah. Sorry. I'll stay. I'll totally play for you if you want... what kind of stuff do you like?" Talking about music clears him, because music is _known,_ it's _familiar,_ it's something he can do easily. Maybe he'll end up playing something Adam actually likes. Passionate, hah.

"I like all sorts of music." It's an amusing thought. In the hundreds of years he's been alive, Adam has found different kinds of music he appreciates. From orchestral to folk, to blues, then through to contemporary 'rock and roll.' "I'd like to hear you play, just for me."

Almost as if on cue, the partygoers start to leave.

Tommy closes his eyes for a minute, feeling for a second like he's spinning, and when he opens them, it's to say bye to the other guys in the band. He's gonna stay behind, talk music with Adam, whatever. For some reason he doesn't say he's staying to play for their host, the guy whose signature is on all of their checks tonight. Once the front door closes for the laset time, Tommy looks up at Adam. "Should I get my guitar out again?"

"In a moment." In the quiet of the house, aside from the catering crew that's cleaning up, Adam watches Tommy again, touching his face again, that same small smile on his face. "What would you like to do?"

"What are you?" Tommy asks instead, and instead of feeling cold from Adam's fingers, he feels his face flush and his pulse pick up pace. "I just... I feel like I know you from somewhere, and not, like, you being on the street, or..." It feels personal. And it's confusing as fuck.

"If you are who I think you are, then we have been waiting for each other for a very, very long time," Adam tells him quietly.

+_+_+

"The new servants have arrived, sir. Might I show them in?"

The lord nods, slouching lower in his chair, long legs crossed at the ankles. They have needed new servants for a time, but good ones are hard to come by. He finds he doesn't much care since the last servant boy had left in the middle of the night from his bed. Bradley had been ... special. It would be some time before the lord can muster the care for ... anything. But he does look up when two men enter the room behind the butler and the lord rises, walking over to the middle of the room to meet them. "And who are you?"

"They are - " The butler starts, but Adam cuts him off.

"They can speak for themselves."

"Thomas Ratliff, Sir." Thomas nods in greeting, keeping his eyes on the toes of Adam of Lambert's shoes. He's dressed in his finest clothes (which really aren't that fine at all, not in comparison to his potential Master's clothing), hair washed and combed, face freshly shaven. The idea of having some kind of security with a warm bed to sleep in and meals, _good_ meals, every day, had been too much to pass up. So he's here, offering his services as best as he can, in hopes that maybe, luck might find him.

"Thomas Ratliff, from ... "

The butler provides the village from where they boy hails. Boy - upon closer inspection, clearly Thomas Ratliff is a man, though slight and small of bone. "This is a fine place. You will be treated well." The other new servant is hardly even granted a look. But Thomas is again before the lord of the manor steps back and turns to go. "Train him to be in charge of my personal quarters," he tells the butler, who nods.

When the master has left, though, the butler, Mr. Jameson, sends the other man to the kitchen and then looks at Thomas. "There are things you need to know." And the tone he uses indicates clearly they they are a mixed blessing.

"Of course," Thomas starts, brows drawn together. "If I'm to be...." What were the words that his new Master had used? "...in charge of his personal quarters... there are many things I'll need to learn." He'll also have to have all of his own personal belongings brought here, and have arrangements made for part of his wages to be sent home for his sister's dowry. "Where should I begin?"

"This way." Jameson leads Thomas through the mammoth house toward the back, the servant's quarters and the servant's stairway upstairs. "He's very particular. He's kind, but you'd do well to do things as correctly as you can. And to ... not overstep your place. No matter what he might say to you."

Those seem like obvious instructions, but there's something about how they're spoken that raises Thomas' suspicions. "What sort of things might he say? Or ask for?" He needs to learn the layout of the house before anything else, because even now, he has no idea quite where they are, and how they got here. Some stairs, a couple of doorways; servants who are to be seen as often as they are heard.

Jameson doesn't answer, however, instead talking and leading Thomas for nearly two hours through the intricacies of being the closest handservant to the lord of the manor. When a bell rings, though, the butler's eyes narrow. "He's calling you. Do your best."

Thomas nods, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders, and finds his way to his master's suite. He taps on the door before coming in, tucking his hands behind his back. "Yes, sir?"

Turning from the window, the lord says, "I'd like some wine. Bring a glass for yourself as well. Ginnie will know what wine I prefer. When you return, you can tell me about yourself."

Thomas does as he's told, only making one wrong turn coming back to Lambert's room, and sets the two glasses down on the table. Unsure of where to start, Thomas stands, once again, hands tucked behind his back and eyes focused on the wine instead of his master. "I wanted to work for you because I'd heard that you treat your staff with respect, and that you're kind, and... I needed the money for my sister, since I don't think I'll ever have a wife of my own. I play the lyre well, but I don't have the voice for song." There's a little laugh, a smile that shows the hint of a dimple. "I'd like to do everything in my power to... to please you. However it might be." Yes, he's noticed how startlingly attractive Adam of Lambert is, and it goes along with the reason that Thomas will probably never marry. And why he's helping with his sister's own dowry. "Would you like your wine?"

"Yes, I would." Adam sits again in a stuffed chair by the windows. "I have a reputation, then?" He laughs softly, turning to peer out at the gardens. "I can be kind," he notes. "But the world isn't always a kind place, is it?" At that, he turns back to look at Thomas. "However it might be. Tell me, Thomas, why you never expect to marry."

"I wouldn't say a reputation." There's that laugh again, but it's a lot more natural, and Tommy picks up his glass to sip at the wine. At Adam's question, though, his ears turn pink and he chews on his lower lip for a moment. "There are... there's certain things that aren't..." It's obvious by the way Thomas stumbles over his words that he's never actually come out and _told_ anyone what his father has lectured him about, endlessly. "...natural. Things that would involve a man and a woman, normally. That I'm... not interested in. Because women aren't in my interest."

"You're very honest," Adam tells him from where he stands. "That can be a blessing and a curse, can't it?" But he sips his wine too and he comes closer, to where the servant stands. "You shouldn't be so honest about that, however. It can get you hung."

"How would you know that I'm simply not interested in that activity at all?" Thomas cocks an eyebrow, just the slightest flash of defiance. To him, what Adam has said sounds like a veiled threat, and he sets his glass down. "I don't want to be hung. I just want to do my master a service and be good at it." But at this distance, it's hard not to see how _beautiful_ his master really is, with a shock of black hair, the spackle of freckles on his skin from being out in the sun - Thomas has a sudden image of Adam on horseback - and eyes that are greyish-blue and focused on him. Now Thomas' ears are red, instead of pink.

"Shhhh." Adam smile grows more fond and he cups Thomas's cheek. "So earnest. So passionate. It is good that you are here. I'll do all I can to protect you." The former handservant's memory is already fading.

In such a short time, such an impression's been made.

+_+_+

"So, yes, please," Adam tells Tommy, the moon peeking through the trees on the California mountainside. "I would very much like to hear you play for me."

The house is quiet now, the caterers freshly gone, so Tommy gets his guitar out again and plugs it into his amp. After fiddling around with some of the settings, he finds the tone he wants, close to acoustic, and finger-picks out a song for Adam. When he's finished, he looks up, a smile touching one side of his mouth. "What d'you think? Not bad for a metal kid, huh?" He calls himself 'kid' as a joke, when he's almost thirty, ferchrissake, because he _still_ gets carded when he's at bars, or even when he goes to buy smokes. Unfair.

Adam's face is streaked with faintly pink tracks before he wipes at it, looking away. "It's quite beautiful," he says faintly. So similar to what Thomas used to play, his skin illuminated by the moonlight, much like right now. Still looking outside, he extends a hand to Tommy to come closer.

"You're-" Tommy's still trying to figure out what is _up_ with Adam Lambert, and when he says the name inside his own head, there's that sensation again, a tickle of memory that's as unfamiliar as trying to learn Dragonforce, or something: the _want_ is there, but can he actually do it? He sets the guitar down in its case again, still plugged in, but flicks the amp off, and comes over to Adam. "Why're you crying? It's just music..."

"Music is powerful, though," Adam tells him in a hoarse whisper. "It can evoke so many emotions. Love. Loss. Grief." Turning back to Tommy, he shakes his head, taking Tommy's hand in his. "You play quite beautifully."

"What'd you lose, then? Because... music to me... it's a good thing. It's about getting out how you feel and then feeling _better_." For some reason, it feels like his hand _fits_ in Adam's, like maybe they've done this before. "I've been playing since I was a teenager, you know? I can play pretty much anything with strings. Always have been. It's easy." He pulls his hand back from Adam's, not sure _why_ Adam wanted his hand in the first place, and tucks both of them into his pockets, instead.

With the loss of touch, Adam closes his eyes, turning away. "You have a gift, then," he says faintly. "Thank you for coming, Tommy. You can find your way out."

Wow, okay. Somehow, he's been totally dismissed. Was it something he said? But he thanks Adam absently and gets his crap together to lug out to the car.

+_+_+

The darkness outside presses on the window of the coffee lounge, and for a second, it makes Tommy think he's going to run into Adam again when he walks home. So, of course, he has to tell Mia about it. "So, I have no idea what's up with this guy. Adam Lambert? We did the gig for his birthday and stuff, and there's something _weird_ about him." Tommy slouches back in his seat, kicking Mia under the table by accident. She kicks him back, deliberately.

"What's so weird about him? You think he's sexy or something? Let's face it, Tommy Joe Ratliff, you're kind of twink-bait for dudes." She sips her wine, no Two Buck Chuck that Tommy always seems to bring over to her place, but something _good_ because they're in public. "And you _cannot_ tell me you haven't thought about it. You joke _way_ too much about it. Thinly veiled interest? Come on."

Tommy straightens to swat her, and they end up doing some kind of slap-fight that dissolves into both of them laughing like idiots from the looks they get from the other people around them. Damn, the wine _is_ good, and trust Mia Tyler to know good booze. Whoops, no offense meant to her dad, there!

Adam isn't inside the building, but he is across the street, tucked into the shadows. It's one of the things he's best at; disappearing.

The woman that Tommy's with is gorgeous. Voluptuous and striking. It isn't personal. It simply isn't meant for her to be there. With Tommy. So Adam waits and he watches, fists clenched at his sides.

They talk for a couple of hours, polishing off the better part of three bottles of wine between them, and after paying the bill, Tommy kisses Mia g'night, gives her a hug, even calls her a cab. She's his homegirl, and he's gonna make sure she gets home in one piece! It's the gentlemanly thing to do, right? After giving her a wave, he starts down the sidewalk, trying not to make it too obvious that he's had a _lot_ to drink, trying to figure out exactly where his bus stop is so _he_ can get home.

He's left alone for the moment. Behind him, the cab stops at the stoplight and the door is pulled from the hinges. The woman Tommy was with doesn't even have a chance to scream before she's pulled from the car and dragged away into an alley between buildings. The cab driver shouts, but seems to decide it best to drive away, quickly at that.

It takes all of ten seconds. Five minutes later, Adam walks from the alley, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand as he starts to track Tommy.

Tommy's being all responsible, leaning against the signpost for the bus, picking at the polish on his fingernails, earbuds firmly in his ears, phone set to vibrate just in case one of the guys calls. God, please don't let them call. He's had _enough_ to drink tonight, and beer on top of that would be eighty-eight flavours of _bad._ For all that he can't hear what's going on around him, suddenly he _knows._ He can feel Adam before he even sees him, and Tommy straightens, pulling the headphones out to stuff them in his pocket. What the fuzzy fuck is going _on?_

In the streetlamp, the blood that he hasn't quite wiped away looks black on Adam's cheek as he scrubs at it again, looking at Tommy without saying anything for a long moment. When he does finally speak, it's low and throaty. "Come with me."

Oh god, what's on his face? It isn't blood, it can't be. It's ketchup. Adam - Mr. Lambert to his face - must have had a fuckin' street-meat hotdog or something. But Tommy rocks off of the post and follows like he's on some kind of string that nobody can see except Adam, and he lets himself be led to the other man. Magnetic. Pulling. Something that Tommy can't bring himself to resist.

There is no talk in the car on the way to Adam's home. But once they are behind closed doors, Adam turns, shoulders thrown back, hands fisted. His voice is quiet, but there is no doubt that he's deadly serious. "Who was she?"

"Who was who?" What the fuck? "Were you _watching_ us? That was my friend Mia. We go out. What the _fuck?!_ What the fuck is going on, okay?" Tommy doesn't feel quite so buzzed now, ripped up on fear and adrenaline, heart pounding. He's in Adam's house, _letting_ himself be brought here, and now what? Now Adam, this person Tommy barely knows, is asking him about Mia?! "If you hurt her-" There's not much Tommy can do. Yeah, he's in Adam's house, with no way to get home.

A vase crashes against the wall over Tommy's shoulder and this time Adam roars, "_Who was she?_" He seems to be pulsing with strength. "You - You - " Abruptly, he turns away, then back and in a whirl of dispersed air, he's in front of Tommy, his hand around the smaller man's throat. "You're _mine_." His eyes almost seem to glow.

"She's a friend," Tommy chokes, hands slapping ineffectually at Adam's arm. How the fuck did he move so fast? How is he so strong? And then everything clicks together. The blood, the strength, knowing Tommy's name, where he's been, what he's been doing. It's hard to make that realization, because hell, Adam's the first vampire Tommy's ever seen, and, well, considering that vampires are generally only in movies (let's not talk about Twilight, okay? It just makes Tommy angry) and in books and on TV, Tommy's left blinking, gasping, stunned. "Open your mouth," he whispers, both of his own hands around Adam's wrist. "If you're fuckin' real, open your mouth."

There's a smirk that nearly makes Adam look ugly; it's mirthless, twisting his features, but he opens his mouth and breathes through his longer incisors, his fingers digging into Tommy's jaw. He leans in, and those teeth brush against Tommy's cheek, scenting him.

"Oh my god," Tommy gasps, except it sounds a little bit more like a sigh, and his hands fall limp to his sides. There's no way to resist this; he'd scoffed at all of those dumb fainting girls whenever vampires show up, but here he is, practically fucking giving himself over, _offering_ himself with a tip up of his chin. "Adam. Adam of Lambert." And he closes his eyes to wait.

"_Yes_." The sibilant s's brush along Tommy's skin. "Thomas." Suddenly, Adam's forehead rests against Tommy's, his touch gentling. "Yes. I've waited for you, for so long. I've waited. And I've found you."

"I knew that I knew you from somewhere." Tommy can't seem to raise his voice above a husky breath, and his hands still lie loose and unmoving at his sides. He should be surprised to realize that he's hard, having Adam this close, part of it whatever vampire-mojo he's got going on (thinks Tommy-now), and part pure, instinctual desire (thinks the Tommy that remembers the past, or at least, a little bit of it). But he's not surprised at all. "Are you going to... are you gonna bite me?"

Adam makes a nearly hopeless sound and his hand shakes, smoothing along Tommy's jaw. "Only if you ask me to. I've ... I've waited. So long." Just with a shift of his chin, his mouth brushes against Tommy's ear. "Thomas."

+_+_+

"Thomas," Adam whispers. It's late, so dark; they shouldn't be doing this - it's dangerous for both of them, but the pull is finally too hard to resist. Adam had called the handservant to his private rooms and pulled him close. "Tell me you want me," he'd whispered and Thomas had nodded and that was all that was said before kisses, hot and open.

So many kisses.

They end up on Adam's bed, behind the canopy, clothing slipping to the floor, hand skating over warm skin.

Thomas lets Adam take the lead, because he _is_ the master of the house, and this is his bed. But it is _their_ secret, and even the sounds he makes are either lost on Adam's mouth or against his throat, and finally, he takes that hand and brings it down between his thighs to make Adam's fingers circle around where he feels _hard_, skin tight and hot. Thomas lets out a breathy groan, pushing his hips up at the same time.

Nuzzling along Thomas's jaw, Adam groans, breathing him in, stroking, slowly, learning the contours of his new lover's body. His own hardness rubs against Thomas's thigh. "I knew, when I first saw you. I knew that I wanted you."

Thomas is rolled to his stomach, Adam's fingers pressing insistently inside. "I knew," Adam croons, words formed against the back of Thomas's neck. "I knew."

That neck is exposed when Thomas tips his head to the side, letting Adam kiss or lick or bite, whatever would please his master, _yes_, because it'll please Thomas, too. He already knows this from the way Adam's fingers move, knowing exactly what to do, where to touch, and Thomas can't help but push himself back, feeling the brush of skin against skin on his belly, and the wet slick left behind. "_Yes_," he hisses, the heels of his hands pressing against the bed, toes curling. "Oh god, yes."

Adam grazes his teeth along the slender column of Thomas's neck before he bites, hard enough, only, to leave a mark that will last the night, though Thomas's high collar would cover it; no chances; there is too much at stake. But when he does taste the skin there, it's at the same time that he rocks his hips forward, buried to the hilt where it's most hot and tight and intimate.

It makes Thomas cry out, short and loud, and he rocks back on his hands and knees. The way he'd curse is bitten back, forgotten in the way he feels stretched out so _tight_, that he can feel every inch of Adam when their bodies move apart. "Sorry," he breathes, knowing that what they're doing has to be kept secret. "I'm suh- sorry, _mmmh_, it feels- so _good._" His head drops down between his shoulders, back arching when one hand comes in to stroke himself.

The only answer he gets is the sharp intake of breath that comes when he rears back and the way that Adam's hands dig into his thighs, pulling him back farther, even as he snaps his hips in. Secret, yes. Glorious, _yes_.

+_+_+

Again, there is a brush of sharp incisors along Tommy's jaw, lingering over the pulsing vein there. "I will bite you, if you want me to," Adam says. "If you wish to be mine, eternally."

"Oh my god, fuck yes." Words that slip out before Tommy can think about it. "I want..." Finally, his hands move, one coming up to Adam's hip, pulling him in so there's no space at all between them, and he's nearly up on his toes to rock up against Adam's thigh. "I want. You." His other hand fists in Adam's hair for something to hold when Tommy kisses him, licking deliberately against one of those sharp teeth so Adam can taste a tease of his blood. "I wanna remember all of it."

In another blur, Tommy is pressed even more firmly to the wall, a strong thigh between his legs. Adam shudders at the tease, breath pulled in sharply, hands tightening on Tommy's hips. "Life," he whispers. "Eternal." No longer lonely, no longer alone. No longer _waiting_. If only.

The only sound that comes, then, is the one of breaking skin and Adam's moan at the taste of hot blood on his tongue.

"_Fuck!_" It's a keen more than a groan, and Tommy's fingers tighten in Adam's hair. Adam's got him, Adam's _holding_ him, and Tommy hooks a leg around Adam's hip, his own jerk-catching up against him. The bite hurts in all the best ways, hot and dizzying, making everything feel numb except his throat and his fucking cock, so hard that a flickered image of busting through the seam of his jeans passes across what's left of his mind. "Oh god, oh _god._ I want you to fuck me and bite me. I want it," he rushes, in one breath. On another, "I want it _all._" The part of him that remembers anything at all remembers how _good_ Adam made him feel. He wants to feel that again, be reminded of it, _drown_ in it. Eternal.

Adam's arms tighten around Tommy's slender waist, pulling him so close that nothing can get between them. He _drinks_, unlike what he'd done to the woman earlier. He pulls the blood from Tommy's body, sucking, deepening the bite, _tasting_ until he has to _force_ himself to stop. Only then does he pull away, Tommy's blood on his mouth again. His tongue runs over his teeth.

Tommy gasps a weak breath, fingers twisted in the fabric of Adam's shirt, and it takes some serious effort to pull his eyes open, and with that comes the inability to focus on his face. "What happened to Mia?" he asks, one last time, bringing a hand up to the side of his neck where Adam's teeth had been buried in his skin. In some kind of absent, vague way, Tommy realizes he's still pressed up against Adam's thigh, and that it might take a lot less effort to get off like a fucking _rocket_ than he'd think. If he had the blood, he'd blush.

But Adam shakes his head. This isn't something to talk about now. Later, perhaps, not now. Instead, he's guiding Tommy toward the large sofa against the wall, urging him down. "When you're ready, you will feed from me and live forever. With me."

When Tommy is lying back, Adam starts to pull his clothes away. "Do you remember?" Adam asks. "What do you remember. Tell me...."

Tommy's eyes move back and forth, searching memories that are hazy at best. When he presses his fingers to his neck, it helps, sending bruise-ache pain up into his jaw and down into his shoulder. But it's _good_, and that's the weird thing. It feels _so_ good. "Curtains. Your bed had curtains. Your mouth tasted like red wine. Every night. Every time you'd call me, I'd have to bring you wine. And..." His eyes are heavy, lashes touching his cheeks and staying there. "...and that's how I knew." His other hand moves on its own, fingertips as light as air, as the breaths he's having trouble taking, and they seek from Tommy's own skin to Adam's. "How long's it been?"

"Too long." Adam bends down, pressing hot kisses to Tommy's collarbone and his chest. "Centuries, I've waited." He palms over Tommy's cock, rubbing the underside almost roughly. "But I've found you." Teeth, dulled now, not cutting, bite and tug at Tommy's nipple.

It makes Tommy arch again, and that motion alone leaves his head swimmy and dizzy, and he drops a hand to Adam's hair. "I'm sorry," he whispers, not even knowing what he's apologizing for. "I'm so fuckin' sorry." He hears the click of metal against enamel, and even though Adam's teeth are dulled, it still sends sharp, bright flares of heat through Tommy. "Oh... _god..._" His fingertips feel numb, clenching and unclenching in Adam's hair. Tommy remembers the urgency of desire, but not how to get there. He remembers how good it'll feel, but his body doesn't know what to do with that memory.

"You thought I was gone already," he's told. Adam looks up at him, eyes still sad, shadowed even in the dark before lunges up to kiss Tommy, smearing Tommy's blood between their lips. There's no more waiting, not anymore. Tommy is here now. He's Adam's. Still-clad hips rut hard between Tommy's legs.

Tommy licks at the blood, tasting salt and copper and something else that comes from Adam himself. He agreed to be a fucking vampire. And now he's _fucking_ a vampire, or is very close to it, and he sniffs a little laugh between their kisses. "Where did you go? Why didn't I go with you?" With every kiss, every touch, little details start to fall into place, like remembering a dream. But when Adam pushes his hips up against Tommy's, the friction of fabric against sensitive skin makes him hiss something blurry that sounds like "I can't _think_ when you do that."

"You don't need to think," Adam says, leaning up to pull his own clothes. In the moonlight, his skin appears nearly blue it's so pale. But then he's leaning down to kiss Tommy again, even as he lifts his lower body to remove his pants. "I was away; diplomatic business, regarding the formation of the country. It was to be a day's excursion. There was an accident; that's all," he explains. "You were told I was dead. I wasn't."

Tommy's enthralled by Adam's skin, how it looks almost like marble but for the dusting of freckles across his shoulders. Freckles that he's _sure_ he knows where they're from, when they'd sit outside in the mornings, Tommy dressed and Adam dressed as much as he'd care to be, the veil of master and servant firmly in place. But they both knew better. Once Adam's pants are gone, Tommy lifts his knees to bracket Adam's hips, urging him down so they're skin to skin, body to body. He can't even think of Mia now; he's utterly lost against the way Adam kisses him, the way his kisses are both bloody and sexual, the way his body _feels_ against Tommy's. "You're cold," he whispers, tugging Adam's lower lip.

"Warm me," Adam whispers, urging one of Tommy's legs up his hip as he rocks forward. "I've missed you. So much." More kisses now, gentler. No more violence, not now. Adam lowers his head to kiss the puncture holes in Tommy's neck, tonguing at them as he folds his lover up under him.

The swipe of Adam's tongue against skin that feels bruised and hot makes Tommy shiver, driving his hand into Adam's hair as he strains up under him. There's no good reason that his body should know how to do shit like this with another guy, but at the same time, there's _every_ reason. A memory of a life he'd lived before, where he'd been loved by Adam, and Tommy - Thomas - had loved him back. "Am I still bleeding?" he whispers hoarsely, turning his head away to give Adam as much throat as he wants. "If I'm not... If... you can bite me again." To use Tommy to warm Adam.

Shaking his head, Adam rocks his hips forward again; he nearly took too much before. "There are other ways," he says, wetting his fingers to reach between them, deftly moving to work Tommy open. "We'll learn them all." Until Tommy too is cold. And eternal.

There's something _wrong_ about this, about letting someone who, let's face it, Tommy barely knows and barely remembers from _another life_, push him open in ways that he's never felt before. Not in this life, anyway. Ways that make his fingers tighten and his expression contract, that make his hips tilt up, hot skin against cold. When it gets to be too much, he whispers against Adam's hair, "Oh god, oh fuck, I'm ready. I want- I want." He _has_ to be ready; there isn't much more than he can take, breathing in short gasps that don't help with the whole sensation of being dizzy, dreamy, and turned on so much further than he thinks he's ever been.

It isn't a bed in a mansion in the lush English countryside. It isn't anything except a couch in a home in the Los Angeles hills. But it is what they have. And when Adam pushes into Tommy, into a heat that seems almost too hot, he gasps out, his head falling back, his eyes shut before he forces them open to stare down at Tommy. After so long. So _long_. Together again.

Below Adam, Tommy's as pale as milk, though still not quite as pale as Adam. There's still the flush of warmth, of life, under his skin, warmth that Adam's buried himself in, warmth that feels suddenly _hot_ with with the stretch of Adam in him. "Huh- hurts," Tommy hisses, but he's not asking Adam to stop. He wants to do this, wants to remember what he'd once had. _If_ it's not some kind of crazy hallucination that Adam's making him have, in some way. From the night of Adam's birthday, those eyes have _held_ him, and that's what Tommy's looking at in an effort to center himself.

Adam shakes his head again; it won't hurt for long. Tommy should trust that Adam would _never_ hurt him. The rhythm he sets is slow, but he pushes all the way in and pulls nearly all the way out and he doesn't look away. He can't. "Your hair wasn't black," he murmurs, hips snapping in again. "But you are just as beautiful now."

The parts of Tommy that remember Adam - mainly, the ones that are being at their utmost intimate, right now - know _so_ clearly that Adam wouldn't hurt him, even with the bloody bite on his neck and the _ache_ below. "It's still not," he whispers, wincing at the impact of Adam's body into his. The parts of Tommy that remember Adam know it'll get better, and Tommy skims hot kisses agains Adam's jaw. "I dye it. It's- _uh._ It's blonde still."

"I know." By turning his head, Adam can kiss him again; no more talking. One arm braces his weight, the other hand reaches back to pull Tommy's leg even higher, sharpening the angle yet again, even if his kisses are soft; one of them still needs to breathe.

It makes Tommy whine out an embarrassing sound against Adam's mouth, and again, he arches up, his body knowing it wants more when the rest of him is still close to the level of _what the fuck?_ His head falls back against the pillow on the couch, eyes closed now, caught somewhere between the present and the past, with the link to both of them making him ride the line between excruciating pleasure and deep-seated discomfort. He's never _done_ this before, not in this life, but- "I- I remember- I- I loved you. I remember that."

Those words stop Adam cold and he pulls his head back to look at Tommy, even in the murk of the dark room in the dark night. "I have not stopped loving you; I love you. I've always loved you." A cool hand cradles Tommy's cheek. "We can find happiness now, you and I. Together. Stay with me and I will show you everything. Give you all you want and need."

Those are heavy words from someone he's only met sporadically in the last few weeks, and it's probably not a good idea to think about what they're doing right _now_ in relation to that. But Tommy _does_ remember, at least a little bit, the calm, steady emotion that's equal parts devotion, admiration, friendship and respect, things he'd thought he'd known so well with a handful of girlfriends. He turns his face to kiss the heel of Adam's hand, unsure of what to say to that. _Stay with me._ It tears him: he's _got_ his life, his friends, his family, his band, but there's _this_, here, now, and the way Adam speaks makes Tommy want to forget all of that. And he can't.

The hesitation says it all and Adam turns his face away. He's waited too long. If he can't be given what he wants, he'll _take_ it. Suddenly, he's jerking his hips forward, snapping them against Tommy's ass. Tommy will _remember_ this. Until Adam sees him again and takes what is rightfully his.

"_Ouch!_" There's the reminder that this is the present and not the past that Adam remembers, that he's reminding Tommy of, and that Tommy only remembers in hazes and glimpses. It brings him sharply back to reality, and Adam can feel the way Tommy's body twists, as if trying to pull away. "Ow, hang on, ow." His toes curl, legs tightening around Adam's body in an involuntary clench, and the heels of his hands press against Adam's shoulders. It hurts, but at the same time, it still feels good, and there's a spark of shame that goes with it, that even as much as this is starting to _really_ scare him, part of him doesn't want it to stop. Part of him wants to remember all of it.

But Adam doesn't stop. He _won't_. To have waited this long? No. He refuses. He is still the lord he was, still aware of his place and position and what it brings him. Now, however, it's even _more_. He refused to die so he could wait. He has what he wants and he'll wait no longer. A cold hand closes around Tommy's cock and strokes. Tommy will come. For Adam.

It's like being on a swing, where each back and forth sends Tommy higher in one direction, then the other, faster, yanked between pleasure and pain that are both so hot that it _has_ to warm Adam's cold skin. Tommy's orgasm hits him so hard that he feels fucking _blind_ for a moment, not knowing where he is, or more importantly, when.

There's soft moan in Tommy's ear as Adam feels that clench and gives over to it. In the moment of his climax, he throws his head back, teeth distending again, unable to control his nature in that ultimate weakness, but in just as quick a flash, it's gone and he stills, looking down at Tommy, face clear and serene. "You'll stay with me."

"No," Tommy whispers. "No. I gotta- You. I gotta go home. It's..." It's too much to handle all at once. That he was this other person in another life, that the person he'd loved then _waited_ for him, is a _vampire_. A guy really can't be blamed for freaking out at least a little, right? "You gotta understand. Just." He pushes at Adam, trying to get out from under him, not even sure where his clothes are. His neck hurts, his body hurts, he's dizzy, lightheaded, confused. "Not yet."

_Rage_ flashes through Adam in a wave hot enough to make him flush, but he can control himself enough to do nothing more than press his fingers to the puncture wounds on the side of Tommy's neck, hard. "_You are mine_," he hisses, face twisted viciously before he vanishes, leaving Tommy alone.

What. The. Fuck. Even though Adam was cold, without his weight above Tommy, he starts to shiver, teeth chattering together as he picks himself off the couch in increments. He hurts _everywhere_, but behind that is the more pleasant ache of getting off, and that's what keeps him from going fucking insane right now. A hand touched to his neck makes him hiss, and checking his fingers shows he's still bleeding, just a little bit. Tommy's clothes are tugged back on, and it's going to be a _long_ walk back to where he can catch a bus home. His limbs feel heavy and it feels goddamn-near impossible to keep his eyes open, but somehow, he gets there.

+_+_+

Mia's dead. And Tommy's sure he knows the culprit, because it'd happened the night Adam had- that they'd-

So here he is, the night after of the funeral, still in his suit, feeling the weight of her casket against his hands still, lining up shots of Jager to celebrate, or to mourn. The side of his neck is still an ugly, mottled purple, a hickey on steroids, and all he wants to do is _sleep._ This is some kind of nightmare.

There's no one sitting around him. It's almost as if there's an invisible circle around Tommy's barstool that no one crosses. But despite that, Tommy can feel what seems like fingers pressing the puncture wounds on his neck, then slipping away, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Tommy twitches when he feels these phantom presses, looking around for Adam, who he _knows_ killed Mia, even if there's no concrete proof. The blood on Adam's face and the way he'd howled his anger at Tommy makes it pretty plainly obvious who the culprit was. Mia was his _friend_, like his sister (wow, Mia and Liv as sister? Whew), and Adam had killed her out of blind jealousy. The shots burn when he bangs them back, and it _hurts_ to tip his head up, like it weighs a thousand pounds on a neck that feels as weak as a pipe cleaner.

_Tommy_.

The sound is intimate enough to be right in Tommy's ear, though Adam's not to be seen.

_Tommy. Come to me_.

With the words, Tommy's neck, around the marks, _throbs_.

Adam has given Tommy these few days. But he grows impatient.

Tommy presses his hand over his eyes, shoulder coming up to press against the side of his throat. _No. You killed her. She was my friend._ He feels cold and weak, both shoulders curling up as if trying to hide, or make himself smaller. But there's _want_ there, too, tied to the blurry dreams he's been having. It feels like he can't tell if he's asleep and dreaming or awake and remembering, or what's real and what isn't. After two more shots, though, he stands from his stool, shaking his head to clear it, and starts ducking through the people in the bar to follow that voice. He's helpless against it, as much as he wants to resist.

In the dark of the alley outside the bar, one shadow pulls clear of the others and Adam holds his hand out, eyes soft. Kind even. "Come to me," he whispers, beckoning. "I'll make it stop hurting; I can do that. I will. For you." When he tilts his head up, the glint of his incisors catches the dim light.

"You made it hurt in the first place," Tommy mutters, head lowered, and the alcohol's given him false heat. Inside he feels warm, but when his hand raises - like he's a puppet, like he can't control his own fucking actions - it's shaking, long fingers tipped in chipped black polish reaching for something he should hate. "If it takes away pain... who's gonna say if I'll love you, after? Huh?" Tommy's words say one thing, but his body says another, turning his face away from Adam to expose the marks on his neck to him.

There are no words, then, between what Tommy says and Adam's teeth re-opening the wound. Adam holds Tommy close, tight to his body as he drinks, hungrily. A hand cradles Tommy's head, one spans the small of his back, a most intimate embrace.

Tommy whistles out a weak breath, batting at Adam again the same way he'd had the first time, and then just... gives up. He doesn't have the strength to fight, and honestly, part of him doesn't _want_ to. No, he doesn't want to hurt for Mia. Yes, he remembers loving Adam. And the combination of those two things leaves Tommy pliant in Adam's grasp. Then his breath starts to hitch as his vision blurs, darkening like a cheap effect in an old Hammer movie.

Adam pulls away slowly, licking at his lips, but still holding Tommy close. The blood in him now warms him and he gazes at Tommy lovingly. "When you are ready, you'll feed from me."

The next thing Tommy sees is his bedroom and his bed and he sleeps, for a long time. When he wakes up, the sun shines brightly in his window and it's almost as if Adam doesn't exist at all, except for the brightly bruised marks on his neck. Holy shit, he feels like a _train wreck_, achey and groggy, and it takes some _serious_ effort to swing his legs out of bed. But once he's up, it's a little easier to get to the shower, to clean up and make some instant coffee. He can't even touch the side of his neck, it hurts so much. _When you're ready._

"Hey, man," Cris says as he comes in. "Dude, I don't know what the fuck you've been doing? But the vampire play? Ease up. That's seriously fucked up, man. Just sayin'."

Tommy plonks down in a chair to check his email, and the middle finger he flips at Cris is just as pale as the rest of him. "You have no idea, man. None. I'm..." Tommy sighs, eyes closed, rubbing his fingertips against his forehead. "I feel like a bag of shit, so don't start with me. Cool?"

He can hear the chair being pulled out and someone sitting, then Cris says, "you okay, dude? I know the shit with Mia was fucked over, but you got yourself into something, man?"

"You wouldn't understand. You wouldn't get it." Cris is his buddy, though, but on the flipside of that, would Tommy believe Cris if he was told a story like this? In a past life, Tommy had been the lover to some important person named Adam of Lambert, who ended up being a vampire, and is trying to get Tommy back? Tommy would be calling the men in the white jackets to give Cris a special fitting for a jacket of his own, okay? Friends don't let friends roam around when they're insane. "I'm gonna go get some smokes. I'll be back in like, half an hour or something, okay?" A scarf hides the marks on his neck, and a hoodie hides the rest. "Just... better that you don't ask. I'm okay. I promise. It's just been hard with Mia, you know?"

"... yeah, okay, man. Just ... take it easy, okay? Just say no," Cris calls after him.

_I don't think I can._ Tommy only gives a half-hearted wave before letting the door shut behind him. As soon as it's shut and he's standing in the hallway of his building, Tommy has to stop and think again about _why_ he's out here. What he'd left to do. Oh yeah, cigarettes. And a real coffee might help, too. Fuck. He feels like _shit_, and he hurts in places that Cris never needs to know about. Outside, when the sun hits him, it feels like daggers to his fucking _eyeballs_, okay? And don't give him any shit about vampires and daylight, because he's not a vampire and he's not exploding into ash. It's just a combination of too much Jager and the fact that he feels sick.__

Coffee doesn't help and cigarettes only make him feel nauseous, so Tommy crashes out on the couch for the majority of the day, much to Cris' bitching about wanting to play the new Mass Effect game. Finally, Tommy hauls himself up for another shower, because there's band practice tonight and he really should be there.

It drags, and drags, and _drags,_ but finally Tommy's on his way home, letting the cool nighttime air make him feel better. And actually, honestly, he _does_ feel better, not quite as fuzzy and stupid, but every time he moves his head, he remembers why he hurts. Because of Adam. Who, he realizes, he wants to see, with an ache worse than anything physical.

When he turns the corner, still a few blocks from the rehearsal space, he sees Adam, then, stepping from the shadows again, quiet, not moving. But still, even from there, he can feel those fingers on his neck again, hear, as if whispered in his ear, _Tommy_.

It _is_ like he's fucking hypnotized, because as soon as Tommy hears that, feels fingers like ghosts, he stops dead in his tracks, looking at the shadowed figure ahead of him. The streetlight casts a long shadow of its own, nearly from Adam to Tommy himself, and Tommy's hand comes up, numb, to touch the side of his neck. "I don't belong to you. I'm not a _thing_," he whispers, but it's trembled and hopeless. He already knows that he'll do what Adam wants.

"I know," Adam says in a voice only loud enough to travel between them. "But you belong with me. I've waited so long. I can give you all that you ever want." And he holds out a hand again. "All that you desire."

"I don't know what that is, though," Tommy answers, only knowing that he's walking toward Adam because he's looking down at his feet, and they seem to be moving just fine by themselves. Again, he comes to a stop, maybe five or six feet from Adam, and the streetlight shows all that Adam's taken from him, so far. Tommy's pale, with dark wheels of exhaustion under his eyes, the bruise creeping up almost to his jaw now, when he doesn't have the red blood cells to fight it down. "You make it sound like a drug." His expression crumples and he rubs a hand over his eyes. "I _dreamed_ about you. And I don't know what's real and what's a memory anymore."

Without speaking, Adam pushes up his sleeve on one arm, the skin pale as marble. With a nail of his other hand, he slices into the flesh and offers up his wrist, the blood already pooling there, his head cocked to the side as he watches Tommy. He is free to refuse, if that is what he desires.

Tommy can _smell_ Adam's blood, and suddenly, his mouth is watering. He wants this more than he's wanted _anything_, he's sure, and Adam's hand is taken in one of Tommy's, and Tommy's other hand holds Adam's forearm. He has to swallow three or four times before his mouth comes down against the gash in Adam's wrist, and the first taste makes his knees give. It should be fucking revolting, drinking someone else's blood, but he makes a weak, hungry sound, threaded through with gratitude, before he _sucks_ on the cut. Each swallow feels like those shots of Jager, warming him, but this is _true_ and _real_, and muscles that felt weary and overused start working the way they're supposed to.

With a hungry growl, Tommy pushes Adam back into the shadows, mouth still on his arm, and holds him up against a wall to take back what he needs. With each swallow, yes, comes strength and warmth, but with that comes a _flood_ of memories, dreams brought from the haze into such sharpness that he could cut himself on them. Yes. _Yes._ He remembers, and when he pulls back, it's with a hiss that leaves a fine spray of blood on Adam's skin. "_Fuck._"

A hand wrapped around the back of Tommy's head, Adam pulls him back in, their mouths crushing together, the copper of the blood tinging the taste of the kiss. He's holding his lover with vice-like arms. "You will die," he whispers. "Then you will live with me. Eternal."

Tommy feels the sting of Adam's teeth against his mouth, and it's at almost the same time that Adam says 'die' that Tommy's body cramps up. "Not here," he hisses, only held upright by Adam's arms, otherwise he'd be doubled over. "Oh _fuck it hurts._" His breathing starts to hiccup and he can hear the roar of blood - Adam's blood - in his ears, feel it zing through his veins like electricity. And his _mouth_ aches. Knees that don't want to support Tommy's weight anymore just _give_, and again, it's Adam that holds him up. "It _hurts._"

Without speaking, Adam lifts Tommy up, cradling him to his chest as he starts to move. First to his car, where Tommy's set in the passenger seat with the utmost care. Then he speeds through the city, up into the hills toward his home.

For the duration of the ride, Tommy's curled in the front seat, forehead nearly against his knees. He's _trying_ to breathe, but his lungs feel like little deflated balloons, and all he can do is hitch breaths that barely make it to the back of his throat. Is this what dying feels like? It fucking _sucks._

Once back in the house, Adam lifts Tommy again, carrying him as gently as possible into the house. "It will pass," he whispers when he sets Tommy down in the vast bed, the soft mattress. "It will only hurt for a while. It will pass."

Tommy would have complained about being carried, because he could _walk_, honestly! Except... that's not the truth, not in the slightest, and he barely feels the bed under his body. "I'm thirsty again," he whispers, pressing his cheek to the pillow, eyes closed. "_Ah-_" The ache in his mouth releases itself as his fangs come down, and of course, Tommy cuts his tongue on one of them, testing to see if they're _real._ "Are they gonna go back?" Words that come out slurred and mushy with these two new things to try and talk around. It's kind of like having a boner in 10th grade, really, something that's _there_ whether he wants it to be or not.

"Shhh. Don't fight it. Let it happen." Gently, Adam runs his hand over Tommy's hair. "It will pass. Drink, if you need." He touches his wrist to Tommy's lips as if holding a cup of water. "I'm here. I'll take care of you. I will take care of you, Thomas."

"Tommy." It's just a faint correction when Tommy's too distracted by the fact that he can see Adam's veins beneath his skin, hear the rush of blood. There's no pulse though, no way for there to be any sort of real circulation, but that doesn't matter. What matters is his _hunger_, and he sinks his teeth into Adam's arm with a low, trembled groan, eyes rolling back at the taste of blood on his tongue. It makes his shoulders hunch and his back curl, and each mouthful pushes back the physical pain a notch. Finally, he falls back, lips red and teeth stained, body finally losing most of its tension. "Oh my god."

"It will be all right," Adam tells him, leaning down to lick the blood from his mouth. "I will be here when you wake up. The world will feel entirely new. Don't be afraid." His eyes are kind as he smiles. "Don't be afraid."

But Tommy _is_ afraid, because he's _dead_, or wait, make that a vampire. A motherfucking _vampire_ who's going to have to drink blood to stay alive. Or un-alive? Undead? None of it quite makes sense, but his body feels heavy and sated, if not warm. "Don't let me sleep too long," he slurs, something he'd tell Cris if he was crashing out before practice or something, and once Tommy's eyes are closed, he's as good as dead.

Waking up isn't exactly what Tommy expected though, either. He's usually pokey to wake up, needing a cup of coffee and a good half an hour before he's even remotely functional beyond taking a leak and starting the kettle. This is like flicking a switch, going from unconscious to clear and awake and grabbing for Adam. He can see _everything_, feel how he'd interact on some level of time and space and movement that makes him realize he should have maybe paid attention to math in high school. And of course, above that, hunger. The need to feed again.

"You're awake," Adam says, rising from where he'd been sitting. As Tommy had regenerated, Adam had washed him, leaving him to rest naked in the bed. Adam sits on the edge, leaning forward to caress Tommy's cheek. "You're hungry. You need to feed, yes?"

Tommy nods, eyes darting back and forth, looking for something - _anything_ \- that he can sink his teeth into. His mouth aches like a bruise, and he sits up, sheets pooling around his hips. The fact that he's naked isn't even a blip on his radar. He'll realize that, later. After. Adam's touch is so close to his mouth that Tommy has to bite back the urge (no pun intended) to grab his wrist and take what isn't his.

"Be still," Adam urges. "I have something for you. Can you stand?" He does, offering a hand. "I have clothes for you and I will take you. You'll feed, love. Don't worry. I told you I'd take care of you. Come with me. You'll see."

When Tommy is dressed, in clothing soft to his skin, Adam takes his hand and leads him down two flights of stairs to the cellar. They aren't common in California - he had to pay a great deal extra to get what he needed.

They don't hear anything at first. Then, when Adam pulls open a heavy steel door, there's a rattling of what sounds like chains and a called out "who's there?! Let me go! HELP ME!"

"It's okay," Tommy answers, not knowing who the voice belongs to, but still finding the need to soothe. "It's alright, you're not gonna get hurt." Not like Mia. But even though it's only been a matter of days since Adam killed her, it feels distant and hazy now, and the hurt that went along with it is dull. What's sharp and clear is the smell of this woman's skin, and it's like he can taste it on his tongue, like salt and pennies, overlaid with perfume and fear. Who knew that fear had a scent! When Tommy _sees_ her, the hunger that shifts under his skin rockets, and if he wanted to, he could trace out the delicate linework of veins and arteries. "It's okay."

The woman, still wearing the dress she was wearing when she was leaving work, kicks at the floor to get away as they get closer, the chains that hold her wrists to a hook on the wall rattling. "Don't hurt me," she nearly pleads. "Please ... don't hurt me."

"We won't hurt you," Adam tells her, his hand in the small of Tommy's back. "You are providing us with a gift." But then she's ignored as he turns to his lover. "Let your hunger guide you."

"I don't want her to remember it," Tommy murmurs, but it's not very clear when his teeth are in the way, and he's _distracted_ by the woman. She's gorgeous, exactly the type of girl he'd go for normally, except... this isn't normal, not anymore. None of it is. Adam's changed him on the deepest levels, and there's no way back. "It's okay," he says again to the girl, sliding a hand into her hair. "I just-" The urge is too much to hide under a veneer of calm, and he leans in to bite her, just above the collarbone. Adam can see the shudder that runs down Tommy's back and hear the muffled groan of _yes._

Under him, the girl tries to scream, but the sound is cut off as she first goes stiff, then pliant, her feet kicking again before going still. "Please," she breathes. "... don't hurt me."

Behind Tommy, Adam pets his hand over Tommy's hair, smiling, proud.

Tommy's grip tightens on the girl, pressing his tongue against the wounds to get as much as he can, and _oh god_, he's starting to feel warm. He can hear her heart and the way it's pounding, and he pays strict attention to it, not wanting to drain her right down to nothing. It's _amazing_ what he can hear, and Tommy wonders what music sounds like, or what it'd feel like to play. It'd probably be fuckin' _sexual_, it'd be so good.

But not quite as good as this. When Tommy pulls back, his face is flushed pink, mouth stained red, and he gently lets the girl go. "That... that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Whereas Tommy is flushed, the girl is pale, her bottom lip red from where she was biting it. Her thighs are pressed together and she looks away.

"We'll let her go after you've fed once more," Adam tells Tommy, fingers tracing circles on the back of his neck. "Come. We'll go upstairs. There is still much for you to experience."

Still feeling like he's in a daze (but at least he doesn't feel itchy-hungry anymore), Tommy follows Adam, skin oversensitive to Adam's touch, to the clothes that lie on his skin, to the way he can still taste the girl's blood in his mouth. "Aren't you supposed to, like, sleep during the day or something?" At least he can talk now, fangs dulled back to just a shade sharper than normal. The idea of making the inside of his mouth bleed every time he talked wasn't exactly a promising thought. "I think I'd just about kill for a shower, too."

"You're clean," Adam says, gaze cutting over sharply. "I saw to it myself." He doesn't flinch either, at the sun coming in through the windows. "There are many myths. That is one. For a while, you might feel more sensitive to light; moonlight is more comfortable. However, we don't need to live only in the shadows." That he _has_ hasn't escaped him.

Adam's as pale as cream in the sun (and thinking about cream makes Tommy crave coffee, on a habitual level), and when Tommy puts his hand in the path of sunlight, yeah, it does burn a little, like the middle of summer and he doesn't have sunblock on. "I don't remember you doing that. I think I woulda remembered having a shower, you know?" He takes Adam's word for it, though. "What else is a myth? Am I gonna have to give up garlic pizza? Do you, uh, _we_, eat real food?" _What's fucking like?_ A thought that seems to follow naturally, and Tommy only blushes because he's fed so recently.

"Food will lose its flavor over time," Adam tells him as they walk up the stairs. "But if you want to eat, you can. It's simply not necessary anymore. Neither is sleep, though it can be something to pass the time." Hours upon hours when Adam had only waited, wondering if it was worth it. "Garlic," he notes. "Might make you uncomfortable." He doesn't talk about holy water and the like.

When they're upstairs, Tommy touches Adam's arm in a gesture that Adam would find painfully familiar: Thomas trying to get his Lord's attention without being intrusive. But while Tommy has a lot of questions, there are other things he needs to deal with, as well. Like still not quite knowing the person that Adam had waited for, not quite knowing that person's memories, wants, needs. All of that is as clear as print on Tommy's face. "What does skin feel like?"

Oh, yes, the touch is familiar and it has Adam gasping in an unnecessary breath as he turns to peer into Tommy's face. He doesn't speak at first, instead pulling off his shirt over his head, not bothering with the buttons. "Feel my skin. Tell me how it feels." Gently, he holds Tommy's wrists and guides his hands to his own chest.

It _does_ feel different. Before, on the couch, Adam had felt cold, but now he just feels reassuring, the same temperature as Tommy. With his brows drawn together, Tommy steps up close, flicking a thumb over one of Adam's nipples before spreading his fingers out on Adam's ribs. The skin is pale, freckled so lightly that it's almost invisible, and after a half-second of hesitation, Tommy leans in to bite a soft kiss to Adam's collarbone.

Adam hums out a sound, a hand carding through Tommy's hair even as he lets his head fall to the side and he watches. "I've missed you so much." He will be patient, letting Tommy (Thomas) take what he needs, what he wants.

Just those first touches have Adam's body feeling alive, senses sharpened. He can smell the blood Tommy drank, how Tommy's own scent is changing, become colder, less alive. But he is patient, and doesn't push.

"You scare me 'cause I still don't know you," Tommy answers honestly. Adam's skin tastes just like skin should, the way kisses should taste, and the feel of Adam's fingers in his hair is nothing short of comforting. "But it kinda feels like I _do_ know you. I just need to, like... remind myself." His kisses move up the line of Adam's throat and under the shelf of his jaw, and Tommy's hands fall to Adam's hips, resting halfway on skin and halfway on the waist of Adam's pants. "What was your favourite thing to do with me?"

"This," Adam answers, his voice lowered to a breathy chuckle. "And you would play for me, songs, in the evening, and we would drink wine." He moves his head just a little, finding Tommy's mouth with his for a kiss that's not like what they shared before, but gentle almost to be a tease, a taste. "I will tell you whatever you want to know. We have time now. So much time."

They have _all_ time, and that's a scary thought. That they could be here for the end of the world, and maybe, beyond that. It's such a huge expanse of time that Tommy can't bring himself to look at it in its entirety, and instead kisses Adam, both new and familiar. "I'll still play for you," he whispers. "I promise." But what happens with his friends, his family, his band? Right now, even those feel far away, something to be dealt with later. Right now, Adam's his focus, and those kisses that don't quite seem like enough. "Show me how to do it right. 'cause I'm clueless."

"You aren't clueless." But nevertheless, Adam leads Tommy back toward the bed. "You will remember."

There is no one else, not anymore. There is Adam and now there is Tommy. Their world is once again complete.

The bed, still unmade from when Tommy awoke, gives with Tommy's slight weight and Adam lies over him, kissing him, his hips coming to rest between Tommy's legs. Like being home once again.

The funny thing is, there's nothing that's startlingly out of place. This _feels_ good, told in truth by the way Tommy hardens up against the inside of Adam's hip and the way his body moves like liquid, graceful in ways that he didn't know he could be, and probably wasn't, 24 hours ago. He pulls at Adam's arms, kissing down the side of his neck where the skin is as silent and pale as snow, trusting that Adam'll know what to do when Tommy's own memory fails him.

+_+_+

"_Adam!_" Thomas gasps, rocking up and down, hidden behind the privacy of the curtains surrounding the bed. The candles outside only send dim flickers of light that cause more shadow than detail, reducing them both to little more than ghosts moving in the dark. He braces his hands behind him, just above his lover's knees, back arched and head thrown back, pushing up into Adam's fist and then down where he feels so hot, so full. "Oh god, _yes._"

Adam's hand brackets Thomas's narrow hips, his own hips flexing up off the bed to bury himself as deep as he can. He doesn't need to see Thomas clearly to know that he's beautiful. He _feels_ beautiful; hot and tight and all-encompassing. "I love you," Adam pants. "With the whole of my heart."

Thomas knows they're not just words, sweet words that Adam uses to get what he knows Thomas would give him. They're the honest truth, and when Thomas pushes back on Adam with a low, shuddery groan, leans down to kiss him. It changes the angle, changes the force of Adam's strokes, and what starts out as a kiss ends up a series of breathy sounds, the evidence of his desire, his _want_, hot and wet at the tip. "I love you," Thomas answers, hiding his face against Adam's cheek. "Oh god, I do."

The angle allows Adam to cradle Thomas's face in his hand, hold him close, thrust up into him, Adam's heels dig into the bed as they kiss. He's never felt like this; this is entirely new and life-changing as well as dangerous. He wraps a long-fingered hand around Thomas's cock, squeezing. "I will never let you go," Adam whispers. "Not ever."

It's hard to think about danger when there's such a high calibre of emotion involved, and god, _pleasure._ Thomas always knew it could be good, _would_ be good, but with Adam, it's beyond _all_ of that. He would hold onto this - not just _this_, but what he has with Adam, what he feels with him - until his last breath, he's _sure_ of it. Without Adam, Tommy would have nothing, and would be left in a difficult situation because of their relationship. Thomas holds to Adam's hips with his knees, turning them on the bed so Adam's above him and he can wrap his legs around his lover's hips. "Nuh- never."

+_+_+

There is no breath to breathe upon Tommy's neck as Adam thrusts into him in one long movement. If possible, his lover feels even better, tighter, holding him deeply. "Yes," he whispers, canting his chin to catch Tommy's mouth with his. This is just a part of what he'd been waiting for, for so long.

It's because this body isn't used to sex like this, but it's on an instinctual level that Tommy knows what to do. He arches up, hooking one leg around the back of Adam's thigh, a hand buried in his hair and the other spread between Adam's shoulderblades. That ache of unfamiliarity is still there, but beyond that, Tommy knows how good it feels, how much better it _will_ feel, and his hand slides down Adam's back to cup his ass, pulling him _in._

Their hips nestle together each time Adam rocks in, taking it even that extra bit that curls Tommy up, sending his knees closer to his chest. Tommy's body is slow to let him go, but when it truly gives to the sliding push-pull, Adam _snaps_ his hips, and they can hear the slap of skin against skin.

It makes Tommy cry out, sounds that are loud and unselfconscious and in time with the way Adam's fucking him. There isn't another word that he can use to describe what they're doing, when every push and pull of Adam's hips winds him up tight, tighter, his cock trapped between them to steal as much friction as it can. Tommy's fingertips dig into Adam's skin, fist into Adam's hair, and even though it's not necessary, he's panting out of habit, teeth just a prick past normal, and he licks his tongue across them. He's different, now. He _is_ Adam's, as much as he'd denied belonging to anyone. "Harder," Tommy breathes, ghosting his teeth against Adam's skin. "Show mmh- me what you can do."

Adam _growls_ and he uses one hand to grab a hold of the headboard and use that leverage to pull himself even harder and more sharply into Tommy's body. Even his toes are digging into the bed for that extra push.

It feels animalistic and feral. And in that way, it's perfect.

When Tommy comes, it's so hard, so sharp that he bites Adam without thinking, long incisors piercing through skin. It's not about drinking; he doesn't push his tongue against the wounds to make the blood flow. It's about feeling so good that it's like being torn apart. _This_ is what death should have felt like, sudden and bright and so ripe with tight pleasure that the release of it is nothing short of _incredible._

When Tommy's body clamps down tight around him, Adam's teeth distend and he hisses, pulling his head back so he can bite into Tommy's neck. A mutual act of claiming and marking. As much as Tommy is his, he is Tommy's and he lays on top of his lover, cheek nuzzled to cheek.

The bite alone makes Tommy feel like he's going to come again, sudden and sharp, and he has to hold breath that isn't really there until he can relax back on the bed, covered by Adam's weight, a strange combination of new and familiar. "Now what happens?" he whispers, turning his face against Adam's. What happens to Tommy's life? How does he just disentangle himself from everything he's known?

"Now your old life is left behind and we start a new life." Moving to the side, Adam pulls Tommy's smaller body snug to his. "There is so much we can do. There's so much to see. So many things I've waited to see until I found you. A whole world to see."

"How do I just... cut my ties with everyone?" Adam'll have an answer, though; Tommy's sure of it. He wouldn't have dragged Tommy in (and Tommy might not have let him) if he didn't have a plan. Instead of waiting for an answer, Tommy kisses Adam again, teeth retracted and body relaxed. This time, he's not as sore, and maybe that has something to do with being some kind of vampire. Tommy had expected- well, he's not entirely sure what he expected, and he's sure there's going to be more to learn, but for now, he can content himself with being somewhere in between Now and Then with Adam at his side, still promising a life where Tommy needs for _nothing_. Save Adam.

+_+_+

Tommy Joe Ratliff is missing. Police reports were filed, posters were put up, but there's no sign of him, anywhere, for months. His friends look for him for a long time, but eventually give up. It is LA after all. It isn't like shit like this doesn't happen all the time, anyway.

At one point, Adam was questioned by the police, seeing as he hired the band a few weeks before Tommy disappeared. But he knew nothing and regretted that he can't help the officers in their search, even going so far as to offer them coffee as Tommy sat upstairs in the bedroom.

And in that way, ties are cut and their new life starts.

+_+_+

"I won't be gone but a day," Adam of Lambert tells Thomas as he closes his valise. "It is simply for appearance's sake as it is anyway." And he touches his lover's cheek. "Don't fret, my love. When I return, the treaty will be signed and we can begin in earnest to plan our leave." To Portugal and away.

His kiss to Thomas's cheek is lingering and gentle. "You are mine, my love," he tells the slighter man. "And I am yours."

He leaves by horseback, intending to be gone less than twenty-four hours.


End file.
